


In All But Name

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Background Bucky/Steve, Cameo by Daisy Johnson, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Get Together, M/M, Pining, background Natasha/Maria, cameo by Jasper Sitwell, tiny dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9740432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: The first time Clint Barton set eyes on the small, skinny boy playing with the Captain America shield, he’d somehow sensed his life was going to change.  Not just quietly, either, but in a way that could be clearly divided into Before and After.  By that point in his life, Clint had had a lot of Afters -- After his mom died, After the circus, After Barney left him behind.  Yet even at only ten years old and angry with the world, Clint had recognized that Phil Coulson was special.  Different.  Like the shiver that had gone down his spine the first time Clint had picked up a bow.Clint Barton and Phil Coulson might have been friends since they were kids, but they act more like an old married couple.  Only, they're not sleeping together or even dating!  However, all that might be about to change…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWeremoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeremoose/gifts).



> Because I almost ran out of time before the deadline, this hasn't been edited as much as I'd like and I apologise if there's a lot of errors in this.
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be posted on Valentine's Day, but unfortunately, I didn't quite manage it.

The first time Clint Barton set eyes on the small, skinny boy playing with the Captain America shield, he’d somehow sensed his life was going to change.  Not just quietly, either, but in a way that could be clearly divided into Before and After.  By that point in his life, Clint had had a lot of Afters -- After his mom died, After the circus, After Barney left him behind.  Yet even at only ten years old and angry with the world, Clint had recognized that Phil Coulson was special.  Different.  Like the shiver that had gone down his spine the first time Clint had picked up a bow.

He’d sat there, staring belligerently through the car window belonging to his fifth set of foster parents, until Phil had waved, a shy smile on his face.  Clint hadn’t wanted to be charmed, hadn’t wanted to be anything other than angry, convinced that he’d be sent back to the orphanage again soon enough.  None of the others had wanted him.  Only, that time, things had been different.  His new foster parents -- Peggy and Gabe Jones -- had adopted him, and Phil had patiently and quietly shared his comics and helped Clint with his homework until Clint had to admit that Phil was his friend.  His _best_ friend.

What had followed were years of secret meeting places, superheroes, and summers filled with adventure.  High school and sneaking into the gymnasium to spike the punch at Senior Prom.  Breaking John Garrett’s nose because he’d tried to beat Phil up behind their favourite diner.  Driving around in Phil’s first car and getting drunk on cheap beer.  All in all, Clint’s life had turned out pretty fucking idyllic and he’d never once regretted meeting Phil.  Not even with the knowledge that Clint had fallen so deeply and irrevocably in love with his best friend that no one else would measure up.  Clint had tried, he really had, but his dates always ended in disaster.  That didn’t mean he was celibate or pining helplessly or anything, but Clint had accepted the truth a long time ago.  He loved Phil Coulson and he always would.  Maybe it made him a little pathetic not to move on, but Clint had Phil as a best friend.

(He’d also won an Olympic gold medal in archery before he’d turned thirty, so the rest of the world could go _suck it_.)

Blinking out of his thoughts when he heard someone sit down opposite him, Clint looked up from the photograph in his hand.  “You’re brooding again,” Natasha Romanoff said, kicking him gently with her foot for emphasis even as she curled her hands around a mug of tea.

Clint glared at his sister before sighing and conceding the point.  It was possible he might have been brooding.  A little.

Natasha arched an eyebrow in a way that had irritated Clint for almost twenty years, which pretty much coincided with Phil turning eighteen and joining the Army.  It had been a rough few months for Clint, with Phil rebelling against his new stepfather and eventually leaving.  Not for good -- he’d still come back on leave and for Clint’s high school graduation, but at the time it had felt pretty permanent and that six perfect years were ending.  It had actually been Natasha who had helped Clint figure out why he’d been so angry.  She’d only recently been adopted by Peggy and Gabe, and at fourteen, she’d been even angrier than Clint.  When she’d turned up in her underwear in Clint’s bed, two things had struck Clint pretty quickly: one, that he’d rather it was Phil mostly naked in his bed, and two, Natasha needed someone to be there for her, the way Phil had been there for Clint.  Over the years Clint had tried to do his best, and now Natasha knew all of his secrets.

(Clint still wasn’t entirely sure how that worked.)

“So what _are_ you doing?” Natasha asked, nodding towards the photos Clint had spread out across the scarred kitchen table.  Like most of the furniture in Clint and Natasha’s shared apartment, it had started off life somewhere else, but as much as Natasha grumbled, Clint kind of liked the battle scars.  He refused to read things into that.

“Mom found a box of my old high school things when she was cleaning out the attic,” Clint told her.  “Actually, I think this stuff is both of ours, because there’s two yearbooks.  I was trying to sort through it, but I got kind of distracted.”  He grinned, showing Natasha a photo of the both of them surrounded by all their friends.  “Look at how young we are.  And look how skinny Steve still is.”

Natasha took the photo and smiled.  “He really is skinny,” she agreed.

“Yeah, that must have been just before he shot up in junior year and started running track,” Clint said.

It still amused Clint that in little over a year, Steve had turned from a small, skinny kid filled to the brim with attitude into a tall, muscled sixteen year old, still filled with attitude but now able to punch back.  The only person in their small group of friends who hadn’t been amused at the change had been Steve’s self-appointed best friend James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, and only because Bucky stopped being able to drag Steve away from fights anymore.  A fact which hadn’t been helped by Sam Wilson’s general existence, because for any fight Steve was willing to take on, Sam would be right beside him throwing punches.

(Because if Steve and Bucky had been best friends since they were kids, then Sam Wilson was their third musketeer.)

Natasha handed the photo back.  “You don’t usually take trips down memory lane all alone," she said.  “What’s wrong?”

Clint huffed, sending Natasha a wry look.  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said.  “I was just thinking about Steve and Bucky’s anniversary.”

“Uh huh,” Natasha said.

Rolling his eyes, Clint slumped a little further down in his chair.    Steve and Bucky had been best friends forever, and along with Sam, they’d ended up roping Clint into their trouble more often that not.  Sam had transferred into Carter Junior High just after Clint had, and he and Sam had kind of bonded over being the outsiders.  Then, somehow, Sam had been roped into teaching Steve how to run better (presumably Bucky’s vain hope to stop having to explain the bruises to Steve’s grandmother.  Clint still wasn’t sure how Bucky had never noticed that Sam was _worse than Steve_ when it came to picking fights with bullies).  After that, the rest had been history.  Sam, Bucky and Steve had ended up the terrible trio all the way through high school.

That friendship had helped when Phil had enlisted in the Army to follow in his father’s footsteps, leaving Clint suddenly bereft of the rock who’d been there for six years, and when Steve and Bucky had started _dating_ , well, Clint had been a little surprised.  Not in a bad way -- he just hadn’t seen that coming, even if everyone else had.  Steve and Bucky had been married for almost eight years, now, and if anyone deserved a happy ending, it was them.

(Clint was self-aware enough to realize he’d been _jealous_ , too, because he was also in love with his best friend, only Phil wasn’t exactly clamouring to marry him.)

“Seriously, Nat,” he said.  “Steve just asked if I’d be willing to take some photos for the party he’s planning for Bucky, even though that’s not my usual thing.  And that got me thinking.”

Ever since Clint retired as a professional archer and Olympian, he’d been working odd jobs and teaching archery to kids at a local gym while he tried to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.  Photography had always been a hobby of his, starting as a way to commemorate all the competitions he and Natasha had attended as kids.  Phil had once told him he had a really good eye, and lately Clint had been trying his hand at artistic nature shots.  He was actually getting pretty good at it.

Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “Thinking about what?”

Clint let out a breath.  “How long we’d all been friends, and everything Steve and Bucky had been through,” he said.  “The party is only a little over a month away, but it’s ten years since they got together, and I wanted to do something special.”  He grimaced.  “It’s probably stupid.”

Natasha kicked him in the ankle again.  “It won’t be stupid,” she said.  “What’s your idea?”

“I was thinking I could put together something that sort of looked like a yearbook, but that was all about Steve and Bucky,” Clint said with a careless shrug.

Natasha smirked.  “I think Steve and Bucky would _love_ it,” she said.  “Just let me know what I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Nat,” Clint said, his chest warm.  He was so grateful she was his little sister.  And at two years younger than him, Natasha was still his little sister even if she was smarter than him in so many ways.  “I just figured we should mark the occasion.”

“You are such a hopeless romantic,” Natasha muttered.  “You want happy endings for everyone.”

“Hope _ful_ romantic,” Clint corrected.  “And is it so wrong to want my friends to be happy?”

Natasha’s eyes were fond, but sad as she watched him.  Reaching across the table, she squeezed his hand.  “I wouldn’t have a problem with it if you hadn’t given up on your own happy ending,” she said.

Clint hunched his shoulders, and scowled at the table.  It was an old argument and Clint was no closer than he’d ever been at convincing Natasha he was happy the way he was.  He had Phil as a best friend, and if he wanted to sleep with someone, this was New York.  He could find a one night stand.  “I am happy, Nat,” he said.

“No, Clint,” Natasha said softly.  “You’re comfortable, but you’re not happy.”

Clint sighed.  “Whatever,” he muttered.  He wasn’t having this conversation again.

Natasha seemed to sense that, because she didn’t say anything else for a while.  Instead, she flipped through the photos Clint had spread out, her lips curving into a smile every now and then.  Clint had to admit the memories were nice.  His later years at high school had been as disrupted as Natasha’s, but they’d still managed to get up to enough mischief between them.  It hadn’t been easy with Natasha’s gymnastics and his archery, and the competition schedule had almost driven them both mad.  Clint still didn’t know how Peggy and Gabe had managed to deal with not one, but _two_ kids aiming for Olympic selection.  It hadn’t been easy, but they’d never given up hope and both Clint and Natasha had the medals to prove it.

Clint smirked and held up a photo of Natasha and Bobbi Morse, both dressed as Wonder Woman for Halloween.  Natasha rolled her eyes in reply, and flipped over an older photo.  The edges were creased slightly as if it had been handled a lot.  Clint swallowed, instantly recognizing it.  From the photo itself, Phil Coulson stared belligerently back, his lip split and a bruise darkening the cheek under his eye.  His t-shirt was ripped at the collar and a battered leather jacket stretched across shoulders that had been just as broad then as they were now.

“You know,” Natasha said, “I’d forgotten Phil’s rebellious phase.”

Clint ducked his head, because he never had.  Phil Coulson had always been a lot of things to Clint, but as a rebellious seventeen year old with a chip on his shoulder he’d been almost irresistible.  “Yeah, that was just after his Mom remarried,” he said quietly.

Phil and his stepfather had mended their bridges in the years since, but at the time, Phil hadn’t reacted all that well.  Clint often wondered what would have happened to him if he hadn’t decided to enlist.  Phil probably would have been okay, but the road had been a little rocky for a while.

“Speaking about Phil,” Natasha said, breaking into Clint’s thoughts.  “Are you hanging out with him later, or coming by the bar?”

Clint smirked.  “Sorry, Phil promised me pizza,” he said.  “But I can swing by tomorrow night if you need the help?”

Natasha’s bar _Phoenix_ was small, but insanely popular, much to Clint’s unending amusement.  It probably had something to do with Mack’s cooking, Bobbi’s deft hand with the cocktails and the fact that Natasha lined up entertainment that could be burlesque one night and live poetry the next.  Sometimes Natasha even roped Clint in to sing a few sets, but he usually only did that when he was in the mood.

“No, that’s fine,” Natasha told him.  “I don’t need you for anything.  I was just wondering if I had to reserve your favourite bar stool.”  She arched an eyebrow.  “Of course, I wouldn’t dare compete with Phil for your attention.”

“Ha ha,” Clint told her, and then poked his tongue out for good measure.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Mature, Barton,” she grumbled.  “Now tell me more about this thing you want to do for Steve and Bucky?”

~*~

Biting back a yawn, Phil Coulson blinked his eyes several times in an attempt to keep himself awake.  The files strewn about his desk were starting to blur, which was probably a good indication Phil needed to give up for the day, but he still hadn’t finalized the details for upcoming Stark benefit.  When Nick Fury had roped Phil in to start SHIELD Securities after the ink was barely dry on their discharges from the Rangers, Nick had promised it would be fun.  Nowhere in that promise had Nick included the metric fuck-ton of paperwork Phil had to wade through every week, or the fact that occasionally Tony Stark would appear in his office like the specter of chaos.  Admittedly, that last one might have been more Rhodey’s fault for passing on SHIELD’s business card when Stark needed some extra security, but Phil wasn’t above blaming Nick.

Over the years, Nick was responsible for most of the shit Phil had to pull their asses out of, anyway.

“Okay, that’s it.  You’re going home.”

Phil blinked up at the doorway to his office, only to find Nick looming in the doorway.  At six-foot three, Nick could really loom when he wanted to, and his preference for black clothes didn’t really help matters.  The eye-patch covering his left eye usually added to the air of danger around him, but Phil had known Nick for years, and the intimidation tactics didn’t work on him anymore.

Nick sighed, crossing his hands over his broad chest.  “How long have you been here, anyway?”

Phil squinted at the clock at the bottom of his computer screen, but his eyes refused to cooperate and read the numbers properly.  “Only since seven,” he said.

“That was _twelve hours_ ago,” Nick said exasperatedly.  “Shit, Cheese, what have I told you about pulling this kind of shit again?”

Scowling, Phil glared at his old-friend and business partner.  “And I told you, I will stop pulling twelve hour days when you stop accepting Stark’s last minute requests to run security on his charity benefits.”

Nick huffed.  “You try saying ‘no’ to Pepper Potts,” he muttered.  “I dare you.”

“Nobody is daring anyone to do anything,” Maria Hill said firmly as she slid past Nick to glare at both of them.  Her blue eyes softened a little when they settled on Phil.  “We all know how that works out, and I’m not cleaning up the mess.”

Maria was the first person Nick and Phil had asked to join them at SHIELD, and without her organizational skills, Phil wasn’t sure how they would have survived that first frantic year.  

Phil blew out a sigh.  “Fine,” he said, conceding the point.  He had a few weeks before the benefit anyway.  “I’ll go home.”

Maria sighed and shook her head.  “Phil, it’s Friday night,” she said.

Glancing up from where he’d started packing up his files and blueprints, Phil arched an eyebrow.  “And?”

“And maybe you should be using one of your Friday nights to go out on an actual date?” Nick finished, eyebrows raised.

Phil shrugged.  “Actually, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to do that,” he replied.

Truthfully, now that he’d stopped staring down his paperwork, the long week was hitting him hard.  His stomach grumbled.  He was suddenly more concerned with food, a shower and about eight hours sleep than he was about his dating life.  Or lack of one.  He really hadn’t dated in a while, which probably explained Nick’s worry.  And sure, his apartment was kind of lonely sometimes, but dating someone would cut into the already short hours of non-work time he had, and he already didn’t spend enough time with Clint, anyway.

Shit.  Clint.

He’d promised Clint they were going to rewatch _Star Wars_ tonight, only he’d gone and forgotten under the wave of work that had swamped him.  He officially sucked as best friend.

Maria rolled her eyes.  “You just remembered, didn’t you?” she said.

“Remembered what?” Nick asked.

“That he was supposed to be doing something with Clint this evening,” Maria said with a smirk.  “What else?”

Nick’s lips quirked up into a smirk.  “Oh, really?” he said, eyeing Phil.

Phil had no idea what that was about.  “Yes, really,” he replied.

“Hey, Boss-man,” Daisy Johnson called out as she stuck her head through Phil’s already crowded doorway.  Her eyebrows raised as she caught sight of everyone before blinking back at Phil.

Phil frowned.  Daisy rarely hung around on a Friday.  She was usually headed off somewhere adventurous with her friends Jemma and Trip.  Come to think of it, Maria was usually off to meet her girlfriend for a date, too.  He flicked his gaze over everyone.  “Did I miss a memo for a meeting?” he asked dryly.

Daisy grinned.  “Nah, but I did find a forlorn archer loitering outside and was nice enough to bring him inside,” she shot back.  “Don’t let him pee on the rug.”  Then she was ducking back out again.

Phil blinked as he heard Clint’s familiar rough laugh, and then Clint himself appeared in Phil’s doorway.  Broad-shouldered and with a body packed with firm muscle, Clint Barton was a man who naturally garnered attention wherever he went.  He had a fluid grace despite the hard-won muscle he’d gained from his archery, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.  Thankfully, these days, Clint’s punches were mostly directed at bullies and the odd mugger.  Clint’s legs were clad in their usual well-worn denim, and a grey t-shirt -- covered in a now cracked print of the Millennium Falcon -- underneath a half zipped hoodie and his leather jacket.  His dark blond hair was rumpled and in need of a good cut, but Clint’s blue-green eyes glinted warmly at Phil.

“Hi,” he greeted with a lopsided smile -- the same smile that got Clint both into and out of trouble on a regular basis.  His gaze slid to Nick and Maria.  “You do all know it’s Friday night, right?”

“Some of us do,” Maria muttered with a pointed look at Phil.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I was just leaving,” Nick added.  “Some of us are late to a delicious dinner their husbands are cooking.”  He glanced at Clint before jerking his chin in Phil’s direction.  “Don’t let this jerk stay all night, will you?”

Clint grinned.  “I won’t,” he replied.  “I was going to lure him out of his office with promises of pizza.”

Maria raised an eyebrow.  “That will probably work,” she said.

Nick shook his head, gently nudging Maria out of the room.  “Good _night_ , Phil,” he called over his shoulder.  “And don’t let me catch you in that office until Monday!”

Phil huffed again.  “Paperwork doesn’t just do itself, you know,” he muttered under his breath.

When he glanced up again, Clint was watching him with concern.  “They’re just worried about you, Phil,” he said softly.  “You work too hard.”

“I need to…” Phil began, but Clint just sent him a pointed look.

“No,” Clint said.  “Actually, you don’t.”  A teasing light entered Clint’s blue-green eyes.  “I think we might need to go over the concept of ‘getting a life’ again.”

“I have a life,” Phil protested, glaring at Clint.

Since his paperwork was packed back up into semi-neat piles, he shrugged into his jacket and started looking for his briefcase.  “I have SHIELD and Nick, and I have you and your frightening obsession with Star Wars.”  He sent Clint a reassuring smile, because he’d meant what he said.  As much as he missed sex and cuddling, he wasn’t unhappy with his life.  Finding someone to date felt hollow in a strange sort of way when he compared it to hanging out with Clint anyway.  “What else do I need?”

Clint’s entire face softened.  “Come on, you dork.  I’ll buy you a pizza.”

~*~

Phil’s apartment wasn’t exactly in the most expensive part of Manhattan, but it was fancy enough to need a doorman and had floor to ceiling windows.  Clint liked to tease Phil about that sometimes, but mostly he just really liked Phil’s place.  The windows overlooked spectacular views of New York, but more than that, they gave Clint a sense of space.  Usually Clint would just go up to the roof of his own apartment building, but sometimes it was nice and sort of soothing to hide away at Phil’s, too.  Although, that could have been less to do with the windows and more to do with Phil himself.

Not that Clint hated his own apartment, or anything.  The tenants of his building were crazy, and he was pretty sure he’d been adopted by a dog, but it fit Clint in a way he was scared doormen and fancy windows never would.  Even this one, with Phil’s little hidden momentos everywhere.  Like the photo of Phil and Nick in dusty camouflage sitting on the bookshelf, right next to the one of Phil and Nick grinning madly on either side of Jasper Sitwell at Nick and Jasper’s wedding.  Or the photo of Clint grinning madly beside Phil before Prom.  Hell, Phil still had the stupid friendship bracelet Clint had made him before he’d left for Basic.

Soft footsteps behind him shifted Clint’s attention away from the bookshelves, and he turned to Phil.  He couldn’t help but grin at the way Phil’s head was half hidden under a towel as he scrubbed his hair.  The rest of Phil was clad in soft grey sleep pants and a t-shirt with Yoda’s face on the front.  A t-shirt that had definitely once been Clint’s, because as much as Phil loved Yoda, his t-shirts tended to be boring white or have superheroes on them.

“Is the pizza here yet?” Phil asked, his voice slightly muffled before he pulled the towel away.

“Not yet,” Clint replied, watching the way Phil’s toes curled into the thick carpet.  It was adorable.

Phil frowned, but the door buzzed before he could say anything.  “Ah ha!” he muttered, immediately heading for the door.

Clint bit back a grin.  At SHIELD and whenever he was overseeing a job, Phil was the very definition of cool, competent and collected.  Nothing phased him.  Outside of work, when Phil let down his guard, Phil was delightfully easy to distract, particularly when he was hungry.  Clint wasn’t surprised at all when Phil came back after a quiet conversation with the doorman, pizza box already open and half a slice shoved in his mouth.

Giving in, Clint chuckled as Phil collapsed onto the couch.  “I’ll go get napkins,” he said, because Phil wasn’t going to.  “Want a beer?”

Phil grunted in what Clint assumed was a ‘yes’, and Clint shook his head.  He was going to have to talk to Daisy if Phil was this uncommunicative after food.  Phil was definitely working too hard.  Clint was confident that between him and Daisy they could deal with it.  He picked up the towel Phil had left draped over a stool by the breakfast bar and tossed it in the hamper.  Then he grabbed a stack of paper napkins and two microbrews from the fridge.  Aside from the beer, there was a lone jar of olives and a box of takeout on the shelves.  Phil didn’t even have _milk_.  “Okay, that’s it,” Clint said, walking back into the lounge.  “We’re going grocery shopping tomorrow.  You have nothing to eat.”

Phil looked up from where he was hogging the pizza box and squinted at Clint.  “I have…  I think there’s pasta in one of the cupboards.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, but you have no vegetables, Phil,” he said.  “Not even a single, soggy carrot.  Vegetables are important.”

Phil huffed.  “Fine,” he conceded grudgingly.  “If we have to.”

Shaking his head, Clint thumped down on the couch next to his best friend.  “One day, you are going to die of scurvy, and I am not explaining that to your mother.”

“I am not going to die of scurvy,” Phil grumbled.

His next bite of pizza was kind of vicious, so Clint decided to be magnanimous and let the subject drop.  “Are you going to share that pizza, or should I have gotten two?” Clint asked instead.

Phil had the grace to look sheepish.  “Sorry,” he said around his mouthful, holding out the box.

Clint liberated three slices just in case, and after grabbing a napkin, he curled his feet up underneath him.  “Are you going to put the movie on, or what?” he said, knowing exactly what kind of bitchy expression Phil was going to give him.

Phil didn’t disappoint.  “Why do I have to get up to put it on?” he said.

“Because I can’t figure out your high-tech TV,” Clint replied.  “Plus, I’m the guest.  Aren’t their rules of etiquette about hosting?”

Phil snorted.  “Since when have you been a _guest_ , Clint?  I’ve known you since I was twelve,” he said.  “You know where everything is in my apartment better than I do.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “I’m telling you mother about your shitty hosting skills,” he said, fighting a grin.  “Just see if I don’t.”

His eyes dancing with his own suppressed laughter, Phil slugged Clint lightly in the arm.  “Don’t be an ass,” he muttered.

“Put on the movie, Phil,” Clint commanded.  When Phil started grumbling again, Clint couldn’t stop his smile, which he hastily hid by shoving a slice of pizza in his mouth when Phil turned around to glare at him.

(It also helped distract Clint from staring at Phil’s ass as he bent over, because that was not a bestfriend thing to do.)

Thankfully, the sounds of familiar theme music blared through the TV’s speakers and Clint settled in to watch Princess Leia save the galaxy.  If he shifted a little closer to Phil, Phil just moved his arm so Clint could be more comfortable and didn't say anything.

By the time Leia and Lando had ended up saving Luke in Cloud City, Phil was leaning heavily against Clint, the remains of his pizza and beer completely forgotten.  Clint glanced at the clock.  It was almost eleven, and considering Phil had probably gotten up before five, Clint was impressed he’d lasted this long.

“Come on, Phil,” he said.  “Time for bed.”

Where Clint expected a snarky comment, or maybe a pout that Phil refused to admit the existence of, there was only a large, tired yawn.  Gently, Clint allowed his fingers to stroke the hair at Phil’s temple once before he moved his hand away again.  Phil cuddled closer, muttering something about being comfortable already, and lapsed into silence again.

Clint rolled his eyes, fighting a soft smile.  “I’m not your bed, Phil,” he said, poking Phil in the side.

“Fine,” Phil grumbled, dragging himself more or less upright.  Yawning again, he waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his linen cupboard.  “You know where to find everything, right?”

Clint raised his eyebrows.  “I’ve slept on your couch how many times now?” he said.

Phil huffed, but the effect was ruined by another yawn.  “Okay,” he said.  “Goodnight, Clint.”

“Night,” Clint replied, hiding another smile as Phil staggered off to his bedroom, and ignoring the stab of longing in his chest with years of practice.

~*~

Phil groaned and buried his head further into his pillow as a voice registered in his sleepy brain.  Watching two out of three original Star Wars movies last night had not been a smart idea, not after his long week, but there was just something comforting about sitting snuggled up next to Clint on the couch and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.  Which he was paying for now, naturally.

“Come on, Phil,” Clint coaxed, sounding far too chipper for a man who usually didn’t get up before noon without grumbling about it.

“No,” Phil mumbled into his pillow.

“But you promised you’d come with me to the park so I could photograph the red-tailed hawks,” Clint said.

Phil cursed, because he had promised that.  Clint had gone with Phil to the midnight showing of the latest Captain America biopic, despite how terrible it had been, and really, if getting up early on a Saturday to go and see the hawks before Central Park filled with people made Clint happy, then that was what Phil was going to do.  “Okay, okay,” he said.  “I’m getting up.”

Still feeling disgruntled because he really hadn’t had enough sleep to function, Phil threw back the covers and glared at Clint, who was fully dressed and leaning against the doorframe.  He had a familiar purple mug cradled in one hand, and as the scent of coffee filled the room, Clint took a pointed sip, his eyes dancing.

Phil’s eyes narrowed further, but even he could tell it was half-hearted, softened by the wave of warmth that rose up from deep in Phil’s chest.  God, he was so lucky to have Clint in his life.

“You know,” Clint said.  “Getting up actually involves movement, Phil.”

Reaching behind him, Phil grabbed a pillow and tossed it in Clint’s direction.  Chuckling, Clint dodged out of the way and it hit the wall harmlessly.  Phil huffed and rolled onto his stomach, burying his head under his remaining pillow.  “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, his voice muffled.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Come on, Phil,” Clint coaxed.  “I made you coffee, too.”

With a sigh, Phil gave in.  He always did when it came to Clint, and that ass knew it, too.  Climbing to his feet, Phil yawned and rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to decide if he should shower or not.  “All right,” he said.  “I’m up.  Where’s my coffee?”

Clint hid a grin behind his mug.  “It’s in the kitchen, Phil,” he said.  “Where else would it be?”

Phil rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips.  “Remind me why I’m friends with you again?” he said.

“Because I’m amazingly awesome?” Clint replied.

Phil snorted.  “Go and fetch my coffee, Hawkeye, before your ego is too big to fit out the door,” he commanded, using Clint’s old nickname.

Clint gave him a two fingered salute.  “Yes, sir!”

Arching an eyebrow, Phil took great delight in grabbing Clint by the shoulder and pushing him out of the bedroom so Phil could dress in peace.  “Coffee,” he repeated.

When Clint opened his mouth, no doubt to let loose another quip, Phil shut the door in his face.  Sometimes the simple pleasures in life were worth getting up for.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

It was Bobbi’s fault, really.  Bobbi and her observational skills.  The shirt shouldn’t even have been noticeable, but Bobbi had looked up from the bar when Clint had settled into his favourite stool, still hours before _Phoenix_ was due to open, and her lips had twitched up into a sly smile.  She arched an eyebrow in his direction.  “Well, well, well,” she said.  “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Ha ha,” Clint said flatly.

“So where have you been all weekend?” Bobbi asked, coming to lean on the bar next to Clint.  “No one’s seen you for days.”

Clint shrugged.  “I was hanging out with Phil.”

Bobbi arched an eyebrow.  “ _All_ weekend?” she said.

“Well, he’s been working too hard, so I wanted to make sure the stubborn ass actually slept,” Clint told her.

Bobbi shook her head.  “So,” she said.  “Is that the reason you ran out of clean clothes, too?”

“No,” Clint said, attempting to brazen it out.  He had to fight the urge not to smooth his hand down the borrowed t-shirt he wore, because he’d never hear the end of it.  He was just lucky that Phil was about his size and didn’t mind when Clint stole his t-shirts rather than going all the way back to his apartment.  Besides, aside from smelling like Phil’s laundry detergent, there wasn’t anything strange about the shirt.  It was just a plain, light grey t-shirt.  It didn’t even have Captain America’s shield on it.

Bobbi shook her head, not bothering to hide her growing smile.  She reached out to finger the collar of Clint’s shirt.  “Next time, don’t borrow something Phil has torn or frayed.”

Clint raised both his own eyebrows.  “And how do you know I haven’t torn it?” he said, because Natasha was always despairing at his wardrobe.

“Because there’s no pizza stains on it,” Bobbi said with a grin.

Clint glared, trying to fight the blush heating his ears.  So what if he was wearing one of Phil’s t-shirts?  It wasn’t as if it _meant_ anything.  With all the nights he and Phil spent together watching movies and generally hanging out, it would be weird if they _didn’t_ fall asleep on each others couches occasionally.  And, really, if Natasha hadn’t texted him to get his butt to _Phoenix_ before he’d even finished his second coffee, Clint would have time to go back to his place and change.

“You’re hilarious,” he told Bobbi.

“I know,” Bobbi agreed.  “Besides, don’t pout, Barton.  It’s cute.  You two act like an old married couple, anyway.”

Clint swallowed, hating how the teasing words lodging like a ball of ice in his stomach.  “It’s not like that, and you know it,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Bobbi said.  “Phil practically spends every free moment he has with you and lets you borrow his clothes, and you pack him lunches when he forgets to eat.  That’s not like a marriage at all.”

“It’s not,” Clint said with a glare.  “So do you know why Nat called me down here?”

Thankfully, Bobbi let him blatantly change the subject without commenting on it.  “I’m pretty sure it’s because Jasper’s having a meltdown in our kitchen right now,” she said.  “Stark apparently changed his mind about the finger-food _again_.”

Clint blinked.  “Uh… what?”

Bobbi huffed.  “You know Stark’s having that charity benefit at the end of the month, right?” Bobbi said.  “The one Phil and Nick are running security for?”  At Clint’s nod, she grimaced.  “Well, somehow, Stark got it in his head to have Jasper cater the whole thing because Stark ate at _Diner 13_ and decided the food was to die for.”

“Okay,” Clint said, because Phil had told him the same thing.  Jasper’s restaurant, _Diner 13_ , was definitely one of the best places to eat in the city, even if the food was a little fancier than Clint usually preferred.  “But how does that lead to Jasper having a meltdown in _Phoenix’s_ kitchens?”

Bobbi shrugged slightly.  “I think he came to consult with Mack about menu options, and he didn’t want to disrupt _Diner 13’s_ lunch service by doing it there?”

That made a certain kind of sense.  “Okay,” he said again.  “Did Mel come with him?”

Melinda May was one of Phil’s old military buddies who had gone into business as Jasper’s partner in his restaurant.  By all reports, she ran the waitstaff and business side of _Diner 13_ with exactly the kind of precision she’d been known for in the Army, but she’d always been nice to Clint.  They sometimes did tai chi in the park together when Clint got up early to chase photographs of birds.

“I think so,” Bobbi said.  “But don’t worry.  I’m pretty sure all we have to do is sit here and taste things.”

“Oh, good,” Clint said.

“And you’re both going to tell Jasper his creations are delicious,” Natasha said, appearing behind Clint.

Glancing at her, Clint blinked.  Natasha’s ponytail was messy and she had what looked like a streak of flour down her black shirt.  Clint didn’t think he’d ever seen her that stressed in a long time, and he was climbing to his feet before he really thought about it.  “Nat…” he said.

Before he could ask if he could do anything to help, a small figure rushed towards him and grabby hands snatched at his jeans in an attempted hug.  Clint tried not to stumble at the sudden weight or trip over the small, brown-haired girl grinning up at him.  “Hi, Uncle Clint,” she said.

“Hi, Ana,” Clint said, unable to keep the soft smile from his face.  He crouched down low enough to scoop the little girl into a tight hug, making her giggle.

Ana Marie Sitwell was four years worth of cute, dark-eyed trouble and had Clint wrapped around her little fingers.  Not that Clint was the only one.  Everyone who met Ana seemed incapable of denying her anything, which wouldn’t have been such a problem if she hadn’t been a tiny, female version of her biological father -- Jasper -- and therefore capable of untold chaos.  Of course, the things her other father kept attempting to teach her didn’t help either, because _lockpicking_ was hardly an appropriate activity for a six year old.  No matter what Nick said.

“Are you getting into trouble again?” Clint asked her.

“No,” Ana said, sticking her fingers into her mouth and grabbing onto Clint’s t-shirt as she attempted to look as contrite as possible.

“Uh huh,” Clint said, making her giggle again.  He glanced at Natasha.  “Is everything okay?”

Natasha waved a hand through the air.  “It will be,” she said.  “Mack and Jasper have finally got a menu that Stark approves of -- for the moment, at least -- and Nick and Phil are on their way to help taste it.”

“Papa’s cooking,” Ana agreed.

“Hey, Ana,” Natasha told her softly.  “How about you let go of Uncle Clint and go and colour with your crayons again?”

Now that Natasha had pointed it out, Clint spotted the pile of toys in the corner beside the bar, Jasper’s black leather jacket slung over the back of one of the nearby chairs, a pink pony stuffed into one of the pockets.

“‘Kay, Aunty Nat,” Ana said cheerfully.  When Clint set her back down on her feet, she scrambled over to the spread-out blanket where a bunch of crayons littered the floor.

As soon as Ana was occupied with her crayons, Natasha blew out a sigh.  “You wouldn’t think someone that small could be so exhausting,” she muttered.

“I’ll go put on a pot of coffee,” Bobbi said.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Clint asked Natasha.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “I’m fine,” she said.  “And you missed the fun.  Bucky was in here a little while ago helping babysit.”  She smirked.  “Ana had him helping with a complicated rescue mission wearing a paper crown.  Don’t worry.  I took pictures.”

Clint grinned.  “Rescue mission?”

“Oh, yeah,” Natasha said.  “Apparently Princess Barbie had been kidnapped by the Evil Pirate King Nicholas.  And Knight Bucky and Squire Ana-”

“Queen, Aunty Nat!” Ana interrupted from her blanket.

“Sorry, _Queen_ Ana had to save her,” Natasha said.  “Jasper’s claiming he’s a bad influence on his daughter.”

Clint snorted.  “Like he’s any worse at indulging her than you are,” he said.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but her gaze softened as it flickered towards Ana.  “She’s cute,” she said.

“She really is,” Clint agreed.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, but thankfully whatever she’d been about to say was cut off by Nick and Phil’s arrival.  Having clearly come from the Shield offices, Phil was wearing one of his impeccably tailored suits, the dark blue fabric emphasising the breadth of his shoulders and the blue of his eyes.  He looked less tired than he had before the weekend, and Clint bit his lip, because Phil looked _good_.  But then, he always did.

“Daddy!” Ana cried, getting up and running straight at Nick’s legs.

“Hello, Ana,” Nick said, scooping his daughter up into his arms.  “Have you been good for Aunty Nat?”

“Uh huh,” Ana said.  “Promise!”

Clint tried to hold back a grin, but it was almost impossible.  “Hey, Nick, I think you have a pink fairy stuck to your leg,” he called out in greeting.

Nick narrowed his gaze as Ana grinned.  “Don’t be jealous, Barton,” he called back.  “You can be a fairy, too, if you want.”

Ana’s eyes widened and Clint braced himself for trouble, or at the very least being man-handled into a pair of Ana’s fairy wings, but Phil stepped forward and saved him from his fate.  “Hey, Ana-banana,” he said.  “Can I get a hug hello?  I missed you.”

“Daddy, put me down,” Ana said immediately.  “I need to hug Uncle Phil.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Nick said with a fond smile.  “And while you’re hugging Uncle Phil, I’m going to go into the kitchen and check on Papa, okay?”

“Okay,” Ana said.  She expertly slithered out of Nick’s grip and hurled herself at Phil, who crouched down to sweep the giggling fairy into his arms.

Whatever Phil said was lost as Clint swallowed hard, his tongue somehow welded onto the roof of his mouth.  It wasn’t the first time Clint had seen a smiling Phil with Ana in his arms, but the sight never failed to send something warm and painful spearing through his chest as Phil listened to what Ava was saying with equal parts awe and humour.  He swallowed heavily, trying vainly to stop his stomach twisting with longing as he watched Phil cradling Ava’s pink tulle and fairy wing clad-form closer to his chest.

Natasha jabbed him in the stomach.  “Careful, brother dearest,” she said.  “You’re almost drooling.”

“Ha ha,” Clint said, trying to pretend someone hadn’t just suddenly sucked all the air out of the room.

Natasha snorted.  “Come on, let’s go see if Bobbi’s found the coffee.”

~*~

When Ana was happily distracted by her crayons again, Phil headed over to the bar where Clint and Natasha were chatting.  He’d caught sight of Bobbi when he and Nick had arrived at _Phoenix_ , but the blonde was nowhere in sight now.  Phil wasn’t sure what that meant.  “So,” he said, leaning up against the bar next to Clint.  “On a scale of one to ‘hiding a dead body’, how mad is Jasper?”

Clint shrugged, but he did shoot a concerned glance at the door to the kitchens.  “I’m not sure,” he said.  “I haven’t seen him.”

Phil frowned, because that couldn’t be good.

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “I think Stark will survive this,” she said.  “Jasper and Mack were coming up with something suitably creative and delicious when I last checked.  And everyone is going to _tell them that_.”  She sent Phil and Clint a pointed glare.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said dryly.

Natasha punched him on the arm, and Clint scowled at her.

Phil hid a smile.  “Well, if Stark changes his mind about the menu again, I’ll call Pepper and the two of us can glare him into submission,” he offered mildly.  “I’ll even do it free of charge.  It’ll be fun.”

Clint rolled his eyes.  “It makes you all warm and tingly inside to threaten people, doesn’t it?” he said.

Phil arched an eyebrow at him, but Clint just raised both his eyebrows back.  Clint had claimed, at various points in their lives, that no one could convey as much emotion with a simple eyebrow movement as Phil did.  He’d even dubbed it ‘Phil’s Eyebrow of Doom’ because he was blatantly ridiculous.  Personally, Phil thought Natasha had him completely beaten in the expressive eyebrow department, but that had never discouraged Clint.

“No, just when I threaten Stark,” he said.

Clint huffed, but Phil missed whatever he was about to say when a small body collided with his leg.  “Uncle Phil!” Ana cried, thrusting a crumpled piece of drawing paper towards him.  “I drew you a picture.”

Since ignoring Ana always ended badly, Phil looked down at her and carefully took the offered piece of paper.  “Did you?” he said.

Ana pressed her face against Phil’s thigh as her little hands clutched fistfuls of Phil’s pants, clearly anxious as to what Phil would think of her masterpiece.  Phil glanced at the mass of colourful shapes and squiggles and tried to figure out what it was.  Fixing an awed expression on his face, Phil crouched down as much as he could to put his face more on par with Ana’s.  “It’s a picture of Daddy, isn’t it?” he said, hoping Ana wouldn’t guess that he was making it up as he went and really had no idea who the blue square was supposed to represent.

Ana giggled.  “No, silly,” she said, pointing to what looked like a squashed eggplant.  “That’s Papa.  You can tell ‘cause he’s cooking things and saying naughty words and Papa owes the swear jar ten _whole_ dollars now…”

Pausing to suck in a breath, Ana just looked up at Phil and continued pointing things out in her drawing.  “That’s you,” she said, referring to the blue square.  “You’re finding Daddy so he can come home and help me and Lady Natasha rescue Papa from the Evil Beardy Man.”

Biting his lip, Phil tried to keep his expression studious even when he wanted to chuckle at what had to be a description of Stark.  He smoothed a hand over Ana’s hair as she chattered on madly about how evil the Evil Beardy Man really was because he kept taking away her Papa and resisted the urge to glance up at Clint.  Ana was going to grow up to be a handful -- and that was compared to both her father’s ability for attracting trouble and chaos.

“So it is,” Phil agreed.  “I’m sure Daddy and Papa will be back soon.”

True to his prediction, the kitchen doors opened a few seconds later.  Phil couldn’t see who’d come out from this angle because they were hidden by the bar, but Ana’s eyes went wide as she regarded him with not a small amount of awe.

“Phillip, stop corrupting my daughter and get up here to taste this,” Jasper commanded.

Phil arched his eyebrow at Jasper, and turned back to Ana.  “Ana, why don’t you go show Daddy your picture while I help Papa?” he said.

“Okay,” Ana said happily.

Straightening, Phil glanced at the plates of food that Jasper and Mack were laying out along the bar and prepared himself for Jasper’s usual twenty million taste-related questions.  He caught Nick’s dry look when he glanced up and smiled.  “All right, Jasper,” he said.  “Show us what you’ve got.”

~*~

Later that evening, long after Jasper and Mack had finalized the menu -- and been assured at how delicious everything had been, which wasn’t even an exaggeration -- Clint sat at the bar at _Phoenix_ nursing a beer.  Behind him, the dance floor was crowded and people were having fun all around him.  Even Phil had stayed after Jasper and Nick had left to take Ana home, and he was sitting in a corner booth with Maria, his tie loose and his shirt unbuttoned at the throat.  Every now and then Phil shot Clint a curious and concerned look, and Clint knew he was being weird by sitting at the bar by himself -- he just wasn’t sure he could sit next to a relaxed and rumpled Phil and not do something that he couldn’t take back.

(It shouldn’t have been any different from the million other times he and Phil had hung out at _Phoenix_ , but somehow it was.  Somehow, watching Phil take care of Ana had woken up feelings Clint could never entirely squash down, and right now Clint was too unsettled to paste on his usual mask.)

“Are you _ever_ going to do something about that, Barton?” a voice asked from beside him.

Clint turned to see James Barnes leaning on the bar with one elbow, his sharp gaze drifting over the dance floor and his shoulder-length hair pulled away from his face in a messy bun.  Clint had never understood how Bucky could wear ratty jeans and a faded t-shirt and look like a model, but Clint just looked like a slob.  It was blatantly unfair.

“Do something about what?” Clint asked.

Bucky slid him a sidelong glance.  “Coulson,” he said.  “And your raging crush.”

“Barnes,” Clint growled.

“Barton,” Bucky shot back.  “You could just try asking the man out on a date.  It’s not that hard.”

Clint sighed, shooting a glance towards Phil.  “Phil’s my best friend,” he said, his heart twisting in his chest.  “But that doesn’t mean someone like him would ever be interested in dating someone like me.”

Bucky raised both eyebrows.  “What makes you think he wouldn’t be?” he countered.  “And maybe this isn’t the best advice coming from me, but seriously, Barton.  You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Buck…” Clint said with another sigh.

“No, seriously,” Bucky said, turning a little more towards him.  “You two are practically always in each others’ orbits, and you spend more time together than you spend with anyone else.  If you ever ask Phil out, less would change than you think.”

Clint took a swallow of beer.  “That implies Phil would ever say yes,” he said quietly.

“Fine,” Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes.  “Go back to your brooding.  I mean, it’s not like I’d know what I’m talking about or anything.”

That made Clint pause, because Bucky had a point.  He and Steve had been friends for a long time before they’d started dating.  If anyone would know what it felt like to take that kind of risk, it would be Bucky.  Of course, Natasha had always complained about how obvious Steve’s feelings had been, because even now, Steve’s heart was always shining in his eyes when he looked at Bucky.

He sighed again.  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

“You do that,” Bucky said.

~*~

“Okay, that’s it,” Maria said, poking Phil in the arm to regain his attention.  “You’ve barely said a word all night.  What’s wrong?”

Glancing up from where he’d been studying his drink, Phil blinked.  “Why does anything have to be wrong?” he asked.  “Can’t I just be tired?”

Maria snorted eloquently and raised her eyebrows.  Phil had to concede the point.  He couldn’t put a finger on exactly what was wrong, but something had been nagging at him since his conversation with Nick and Maria last Friday.  Nick had brought up Phil’s lack of dating, or really even interest in anyone lately, once again before he and Jasper had left, and Phil was beginning to wonder if that was the problem.  The idea of dating anyone just didn’t seem to appeal, and Phil couldn’t figure out why.

“Okay, so if nothing’s wrong, then what was I talking about?” Maria asked.

Phil winced.  “Buying a new gun?” he guessed hesitantly.

“Not even close,” Maria told him.

Letting out a breath, Phil pushed his cocktail away from him.  “I’m sorry, Maria,” he said.  And he was.  Normally, he loved catching up with Maria outside of work and finally getting a chance to talk about all the things they couldn’t on the clock.  He didn’t even mind listening to Maria’s odd relationship problem with her girlfriend -- and Phil’s friend -- Natasha, because heaven knew Maria was a lot like Phil when it came to relationships.

“Hey,” Maria said softly, leaning closer and putting a comforting arm on Phil’s arm.  “Something really is bugging you, isn’t it?  What’s wrong?”

When Phil hesitated, Maria squeezed his arm gently.  “I promise, this is a Nick free zone,” she said.  “So whatever it is, I promise it won’t leave this table.”

Phil glanced up to where Clint was still hanging at the bar.  That was part of the problem, too.  Something was bothering Clint this evening, and he’d withdrawn to sit by himself despite Phil’s best attempts to get Clint to join him.  Except, at the moment it seemed that Sam Wilson was succeeding where Phil hadn’t -- he’d joined Clint at the bar, and Clint was chuckling, his nose scrunched up and his arm slung over Sam’s shoulders.  Phil swallowed down the very juvenile surge of jealously that twisted his stomach.

Sighing, Phil shook his head and turned back to Maria.  “I’m not actually sure what the problem _is_ ,” he said.

“Well, it’s got to be something,” Maria said.  “You don’t get like this unless it’s something big, Phil.”

Phil grimaced.  “It can’t be that big a deal if I don’t know what it is,” he muttered.

“Are you sure about that?” Maria said and Phil could have sworn she hid a smirk behind her martini glass.

He narrowed his eyes, and then sighed.  “Promise you won’t laugh?” he said.

Maria put a hand over her heart.  “On my honour as a Marine,” she promised.

“I think it has something to do with Clint,” he said.

“Clint?” Maria echoed, blinking once.

Phil nodded.  “We headed out to Central Park on Saturday so Clint could photograph the hawks and their new nest, and while we were there, a pretty blonde jogger who was _just_ Clint’s type tried to get his number,” he said, almost rolling his eyes at himself.  He was being ridiculous.  “It’s hardly the first time someone’s tried to hit on Clint while I was standing there, but this time, I swear I felt… jealous.”

“Jealous?”  To her credit, Maria didn’t so much as crack a smile.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Phil,” she said, “but I thought you and Clint were just friends?”

“We are,” Phil said.  “I just…”  He sighed, running a hand over his face and now feeling more stupid and confused than ever.  “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria said, sounding like she understood what Phil was feeling.

Maybe, after everything she’d been through with Natasha, she did.

“Did he let the blonde give him her number?” she asked.

Blinking, Phil frowned.  “What?”

“In the park,” Maria clarified.  “Did Clint take the blonde’s number?”

“Well, no,” Phil said, because actually, Clint hadn’t.  “He jogged back over to me and made me buy him a coffee.”

Maria smirked, but Phil didn’t get the significance.  Clint usually played down that kind of attention when he and Phil were hanging out, although Phil knew Clint did date.  When he’d asked Clint about it, Clint had shrugged and said he was hanging out with Phil, so why did he need anyone else’s attention?

“I’ve got just one more question for you, Phil,” Maria said.  “And you’re not going to like it.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “I’m pretty sure I haven’t liked at least half this conversation,” he grumbled.

Maria huffed.  “Why don’t you date?” she asked.  “I’ve seen people flirt with you.  And _don’t_ say it’s because you’re too busy.”

Unsure as to what relevance that had, Phil shrugged.  “Well, for the record, it’s not that no one has asked,” he said, because Nick liked to bring that up, too.  “It’s just they didn’t feel… right.  They were either too boring or too arrogant, or once memorably at one of Stark’s things, both at the same time.”

“And when you do actually indulge in non-work activities, who do you spend more of your time with than anyone else on Earth?” Maria asked, back to sounding far too amused.

“Clint,” Phil replied, because that was obvious.  He glared at Maria for good measure.

Maria shook her head.  “I’m beginning to understand why Tash got so impatient with me,” she muttered.  She cleared her throat.  “Okay, so how would you feel if Clint started dating the blonde from the park?  Or anyone?  And I mean seriously dating someone, like the kind of dating where he couldn’t hang out with you so much anymore?”

About a million different emotions hit Phil all at once.  He wanted to deny that Clint would _ever_ stop hanging out with him, but it was suddenly followed by a wave of icy fear that Clint _might_ , and if he did, maybe Clint would want to watch _Star Wars_ with that person and not with Phil.  That maybe Clint wouldn’t sit so close to Phil on the couch anymore, or offer Phil a bit of his donuts, or cook dinner for him when he was worried Phil wasn’t eating enough vegetables.  Phil swallowed.  Since when had he stopped wanting to share Clint’s attention with anyone else?  Or had he just gotten so used to being the focus that he’d been taking Clint for granted?

“Okay, you don’t actually need to answer that one,” Maria said.  “Your face answered for you.”

Phil opened his mouth to reply, but he had no idea what to say.

Maria arched an eyebrow and smirked again.  “And now for the clincher,” she said.  “Does the idea of kissing Clint -- and I mean with tongue -- completely gross you out?”

The images that flashed through Phil’s mind were anything _but_ gross.  His stomach did a long, slow flip and a shiver trickled down his spine at the sudden image of Clint leaning close, his mouth still curved up into a grin and his eyes dark, his stubble rough against Phil’s skin…

Wait.   _What?_

Since when did he want to _kiss_ Clint?

“Shit,” Phil breathed, stunned.

Maria laughed.  “Face it, Phil,” she said.  “Somewhere along the way, you’ve gone and fallen in love with your best friend.”

Phil wanted to turn around and tell Maria she was wrong, but not that Maria had said the words out loud, they seemed seared into Phil’s brain.  Even in his own mind, Phil’s instinctive denials seemed weak, his mind full of images of Clint smiling and laughing at Phil’s bad jokes.

“ _Shit_ ,” Phil repeated.

Maria peered at him.  “It’s really that much of a shock to you?” she asked.  Then she seemed to think better of it.  “What am I saying?  You wouldn’t know your own feelings if they bit you in the ass, of course you didn’t.”  She cocked her head.  “So what are you going to do about your sudden realization?”

“Is denial an option?” Phil asked.

“You deny this, and I’m telling Nick,” Maria threatened flatly.

“Shit,” Phil said for a third time, because _oh fuck_.

“Buck up, Phil,” Maria said, slapping him on the shoulder.  “You’re a Ranger.  You can totally handle this.”

Phil had his doubts, but underneath the surge of fear was a growing hope, because maybe, just maybe, Phil could convince Clint to take a risk.  Now that Phil knew the truth of his feelings, there was no taking them back.  They’d grow and push until Phil was an awkward mess talking to Clint, so forwards was the only way to go.

Swallowing down the rest of his cocktail, Phil breathed out.  It was time for a plan.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

Clint slowly blinked awake to a sharp ache in his neck.  Mornings normally weren’t his best time of day, but even so Clint wasn’t sure why he’d decided to fall asleep on the couch.  Even if the couch was insanely comfortable.  Maybe even more comfortable than the last time he’d slept on it, and oh, that’s right.  It was Phil’s couch.

(Clint vaguely remembered coming up after they’d left _Phoenix_ , because Sam had helped put things in perspective again, even if Sam didn’t know it.  But Clint’s feelings weren’t Phil’s fault, and really, he wasn’t going to say no to spending time with Phil when Phil invited him, anyway.)

Yawning, Clint shifted towards the comforting warmth along his back.  It felt nice.  There was a solid weight lying across his stomach, too, and Clint buried closer, trying to escape the cool morning air.  When the comforting warmth snuggled back, Clint snapped awake.

That was a person.

There was a person behind him.

Now that he was more awake, Clint scanned the room around him, but it was definitely Phil’s apartment.  Which meant that it had to be Phil snuggled up behind him on the couch, because who else would it be?  And if it _was_ Phil, then this was potentially about to get very awkward and embarrassing.

Clint’s heart lurched in his chest, but Clint ignored it.  Phil was surprisingly tactile with those he trusted, and this was probably just an example of that.  They’d stayed up way too late talking last night, mostly because Phil had looked stressed about something and Clint had been trying to gently pry out what was wrong.  Not that he’d been successful, but Phil was a stubborn ass when it came to keeping secrets about what was bothering him.

Of course, that didn’t explain why Phil was currently cuddled up behind him, one arm possessively curled around Clint’s waist.  Swallowing hard, Clint tried to figure out what this meant, because this wasn’t normal, even for them.

Moving slowly, Clint tried to carefully extract himself from Phil’s grasp.  Phil probably didn’t know Clint wasn’t his usual pillow.  It was all completely innocent.  Except Phil tightened his grip to stop Clint moving, and Clint’s heart lurched in his chest again.  Clint closed his eyes.  It was getting harder and harder to pretend his feelings for Phil were purely platonic, and whatever inhibitions Clint had started with were fast disappearing.  He waited another minute, just to make sure Phil really was sleeping, and tried again.  This time he managed to slip out from underneath Phil’s arm, only to overestimate the size of the couch.  He bit back a grunt as he thumped into the floor, blinking up at the ceiling.

At least Phil wasn’t awake to witness it.

(Although, that would also have created a whole other set of awkward problems, so there were probably _many_ good reasons Phil had slept through everything.)

Okay.  Clint needed coffee.  Then he could deal with everything else.

Staggering into the kitchen, Clint started the coffee maker and ran a hand through his hair.  It was probably better for his sanity if Clint just treated this the same way Phil had treated most of Clint’s potentially embarrassing drunken shenanigans.  Even if Phil -- and Clint -- hadn’t been drunk, not that being drunk was the point.

The point was… Clint didn’t know the point anymore.  Only that he wasn’t allowed to be embarrassed about how he woke up, or bring it up in conversation.

(Obsessing about it late at night was another problem, but very little stopped Clint doing that, so he was going to give himself a pass on that one.)

Reaching up to pull two mugs out of the cupboard, Clint glanced at the clock.  And uh oh.  It was later than Clint had thought.  Phil was going to be late for work if Clint didn’t wake him up.  He quickly poured the coffee, hoping the smell would rouse Phil, and headed back into the living room.

“Phil?” he called out softly.

Phil had shifted to lay face down on the couch, his head pressed into one of the cushions.  And if his shirt had also ridden up slightly to reveal a strip of pale skin, well, Clint was _not_ going to admit to pausing a little and staring at it.

“Phil,” he tried again, a little louder this time.

Groaning, Phil shifted to crack open his eyes in Clint’s direction, his disgruntled expression reminding Clint of a cat.  “You’re going to be late for work,” Clint told him.

Phil sat up in a rush, his eyes wide.  His shirt was rumpled and his hair stood up in tuffs, and shit, Clint was _never_ going to stop being in love with this man.  Never.  He wondered absently how it was that he could fall in love with Phil over and over again when he’d never stopped loving Phil in the first place.

“Shit,” Phil said.  Then he blinked.  “Wait, why am I on the couch?”

“Probably because you fell asleep there,” Clint said dryly.  He shook his head at the way Phil immediately narrowed his eyes, and handed Phil the second mug he was holding.  “Coffee.  And you should probably shower.”

“Yes,” Phil agreed.  “Right.”

When he continued to sit there, not even attempting to sip his hot coffee like he usually would, Clint raised both his eyebrows.  “You okay there, Phil?” he said.

Phil nodded, but he didn’t look convinced of his own answer.  “You… are you free tonight?” he asked.

“I’m meeting up with Nat to mess with the present we’re putting together for Steve and Bucky, but I should be free after seven?” Clint replied.

“Good,” Phil said, nodding again.  “Good.”

Clint felt his eyebrows lift even higher.  “Okaaay,” he drawled.  “I’ll bring the food.  You can try to be less weird, if that’s possible.”  He glanced at the clock.  “Also, you’re only getting later for work, Phil.”

Cursing again, Phil swallowed a large mouthful of coffee and then winced at the temperature.  Clint rolled his eyes and pushed his best friend in the direction of the shower.  Hopefully, Phil would be willing to talk about whatever was bothering him when they met up again that evening, but for now, Clint was just going to take care of Phil as much as Phil would let him.

~*~

Phil still wasn’t entirely sure how his life had come to this.  He’d had a plan, and it had been a good plan, but this hadn’t been it.  Even so, he still opened the door when Clint knocked, and tried to pretend his stomach wasn’t currently lodged in his throat.  He couldn’t even blame Maria, because it wasn’t her fault she’d pointed out something that should have been obvious to Phil which had led to Phil needing a plan in the first place.

(Should have been, but wasn’t until Maria had said it, and now he didn’t know how to act and was it this difficult for everyone or just him?)

“I brought Chinese,” Clint said as he slipped past Phil into the apartment.  “I didn’t think you’d object, and also I’m kind of addicted to whatever they’ve done to the mushu pork.”

When Phil just continued to stand there, Clint sent him a curious look.  “Phil?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Phil said, his voice coming out a little rough.  He cursed himself under his breath and turned away to shut the door.

“You must be more tired than I thought,” Clint said.

He reached out to snag one of Phil’s wrists and tugged Phil towards the couch.  This close to Clint, Clint’s hand warm against Phil’s skin, Phil couldn’t find his voice.  Instead, he took a deep breath which didn’t help in the slightest and tried to stop himself from reaching out for Clint and dragging him even closer.  Phil was almost surprised by the burning need to simply wrap his arms around Clint and not let go.

Clint grinned as they fell into the couch cushions and held up the bag in his other hand.  “Hungry?” he asked with a mad wiggle of his eyebrows.

Rolling his eyes, Phil huffed out a laugh.  “Sure,” he said.

Clint was silent for a moment, glancing at Phil out of the corner of his eye.  “Sooo…”  Clint dragged out the word as he unpacked the take out.  Phil noticed with a trace of amusement that there were at least three cartons of mushu pork.

“Are you feeding an army I don’t know about?” Phil asked as the food piled up.

“Ha ha,” Clint said.  “And don’t change the subject.”

Phil raised an eyebrow.  “And what subject would that be?”

Clint narrowed his eyes.  “I was going to ask if you wanted to talk about whatever’s bugging you, and then offer to put in Die Hard if you didn’t want to talk about it,” he said, “but suddenly I’m not feeling nearly so charitable.”

Despite his words, the look in Clint’s eyes made Phil’s breath catch in his throat.  It wasn’t the first time he’d caught Clint watching him like he was a complicated puzzle and one of the pieces had just fallen into place, but this time it send a shiver down Phil’s spin.  He felt suddenly trapped in his own skin, palms itching to find a response to the question he saw behind those blue eyes.

“Phil?” Clint said.

A strange, heavy tension settled in the air, crackling thickly between them and making Phil’s mouth go dry.  Phil swallowed, fighting the impulse to leap to his seat, or to grab a cushion and put it between himself and Clint.  Without really even thinking about it, Phil grabbed Clint’s hand and tangled their fingers together, unconsciously stroking his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of Clint’s wrist.

“Clint,” Phil said, but he could barely hear the word over the was his heart was pounding in his ears, and he had absolutely no idea what to say next anyway.

“Yeah?” Clint said, but his shoulders were suddenly tense.

“Uh,” Phil tried again, surprised at how rough his voice sounded.  It might have been because all the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat and refusing to come out.  He tightened his grip on Clint’s hand just in case Clint was thinking about going anywhere, but Clint seemed to be as trapped by the tension as Phil was.

“Whatever it is, Phil,” Clint whispered.  “You’ve always got me, okay?”

“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” Phil said unthinkingly, because even if all he could ever have of Clint was his friendship, then he’d find a way to be happy.  But he didn’t _want_ to.

For a second, a look of deep pain flashed through Clint’s eyes and Phil felt his own widen in response.  “No, wait.  I didn’t meant it like that,” he said.  “You’ll always be my best friend, Clint.”

“But?” Clint said, and his eyes were guarded in a way they hadn’t been in _years_.

“No buts,” Phil said.  Maybe it was the comfort and familiarity of sitting next to Clint on the couch like they always did, or maybe it was just the urge to take away that look of pain and never see it again, but Phil mustered up the courage to cup Clint’s face with his free hand.  “I mean that.  I will always be your best friend.  I just…”

The words dried up again, tangling in Phil’s throat.  “Screw it,” he muttered and leaned forward to press his lips to Clint’s.

He pulled back almost as quickly, not even breathing, and studied Clint’s face.  Phil felt as if his whole body was tense enough to snap.  Had he just ruined everything?

“Phil?” Clint breathed, his eyes wide and stunned.

Phil swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the way his heart was plummeting in his chest.  Then, as Clint pushed into his personal space, Clint’s gaze flicking downwards to glance at Phil’s lips, Phil’s heart surged up again and a sense of freewheeling hope burst through him.  Tension coiled between them again as he felt Clint’s warm breath brush his face, and his grip on Clint’s hand was too tight, but he couldn’t get his fingers to let go.

Taking a deep breath, Phil forced himself to say the words, consequences be damned.  “I love you,” he whispered.  “I mean, I’m _in_ love with you.  In a romantic sense.  The kind of way that ends with-”

He ruthlessly cut himself off before he could reveal too much.  He still had no idea what Clint thought of his attempted confessions.

(Although he had hope.  Oh, did he have _hope_.)

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time now, but I’ve only just realized it,” Phil added, watching as Clint’s eyes went impossibly wide.

“ _Phil_ ,” Clint hissed, and then Clint was surging forwards to kiss him properly.

Clint’s hands slid into Phil’s hair as he shifted closer, deepening the kiss until Phil was light-headed.  Clint kissed him like it was all Clint ever wanted to do, and Phil swayed forward, heat sparking under his skin.  Phil’s hand settled on the side of Clint’s neck, silently prompting for more, and he felt Clint shudder.  Phil pressed closer still, nearly clinging, because this was Clint and they were kissing and Phil didn’t want to stop.  Ever.

“Say it again,” Clint said, pulling back with a gasp.

Phil swallowed, blinking back the heat still surging through his veins.  “I love you,” he said.  “I’m in love with you, Clint Barton.”

Clint’s entire body stilled and he closed his eyes.  “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Phil said, as firmly as he could manage.  “Yes yes yes.  So much it fucking _hurts_.”

His palm flattened over Clint’s heart, feeling the pounding beat that matched Clint’s ragged intake of breath.  “Oh,” Clint said.  “Oh.”

A warmth started tentatively spreading through Phil’s chest, and he decided he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to put that soft, happy expression in Clint’s eyes.  “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Clint repeated again with feeling.

“I’m really hoping that means you love me back, Clint,” Phil said, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“What?  You didn’t… Oh my _God_ ,” Clint growled, shifting forwards in a fluid movement to press his lips against Phil’s in a hard, urgent kiss.  “Phil, don’t be _stupid_.  Of course I love you, you idiot.  I’ve loved you for _years_.  Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

A bright, happy chuckle rising up in his throat, Phil leaned in to slant his mouth back over Clint, cutting off the end of Clint’s rant.  He might have been stupid not to have seen what was right in front of him, but now that he knew, he wasn’t stupid enough to let Clint get away.  Fuck, Clint _loved_  him.

Sweet, wonderful, perfect _Clint_.

“ _Phil_ ,” Clint muttered against his mouth and seriously, how had Phil not done this sooner?

Breaking apart to breath, Phil rested his forehead against Clint’s.  Just for a moment.  The laughter bubbled up and spilled out, and Phil wondered how he’d gotten so impossibly lucky to have fallen in love with this man and have him love Phil back.

“Hey, Phil?” Clint said softly.

Phil blinked open his eyes to find Clint studying him with that sharp gaze.  Phil shivered under the intense scrutiny, but it didn’t feel bad to be the subject of Clint’s entire attention.  “Yeah?”

“Are you… I mean, are we…” Clint asked before he gave a rough chuckle.  “Am I dreaming?”

“No, Clint,” Phil replied with a soft smile.  “We’re not dreaming.”

“Promise?” Clint said.

“I promise,” Phil said, helpless to stop himself brushing his lips over Clint’s again.  Kissing Clint was something he could happily get addicted to.  “I’m here.”

~*~


	4. Epilogue

“Is this seat taken?” Steve Rogers said, sliding into the seat opposite Clint.

Clint smiled, raising both his eyebrows.  He hadn’t seen Steve since he’d greeted his old friend by door, but that was to be expected at an anniversary party where he was one of the two guests of honour.  Clint hadn’t really wanted to interrupt the festivities, but Steve had apparently slipped away from Bucky and his well-wishers for the moment.  Maybe he’d used the distraction of Natasha and Bucky’s drinking competition at the bar.  Or maybe the realization doing the rounds that the mysterious T’Challa that Sam was dating was an _actual_ prince.

(Or maybe Steve was just getting better at being sneaky.  Who knew?)

“Not at the moment,” Clint replied, but his eyes did stray towards the table where Phil was attempting to steal them some more Jasper-created food.  Unfortunately, it looked like Phil had been waylaid by Nick, so Clint might not be getting to taste that food any time soon.

Steve smiled.  “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your attention for long,” he said.  “I just wanted to say thank you for our present.  It’s… beautiful.  And it means a lot.  So thank you.”

Clint blinked, because he hadn’t thought Steve had opened any of his presents yet, let alone had a chance to flip through the ‘year book’ Clint and Natasha had made.  “How did…?” he said.

“Natasha gave it to us yesterday,” Steve said.

Clint huffed out a laugh.  “I should have guess that,” he said dryly.

Steve shrugged, his eyes dancing.  “Yeah, probably,” he agreed.  “Although, now I’m going to have to think of something just as special for your wedding present.”

Grateful he wasn’t drinking anything, Clint coughed a little as his lungs seized.  “My wedding present?” he echoed.

“Too soon?” Steve said.

“Oh my God,” Clint said.  “Don’t you start.  Bucky is bad enough.”

Since he and Phil had told all their friends that they were dating, there hadn’t been an end to the jokes and teasing.  Their friends all thought they were comedians.  Bucky and Natasha had been the worst of the lot, to the surprise of no one.  Even so, Clint was feeling good.  Phil loved him back.  He could put up with a few jokes for that.

“I’m happy for you both,” Steve said.

“Thanks, Steve,” Clint said.

“I can also try to stop Buck being such an asshole, if you like?” Steve offered.

Clint raised both eyebrows.  “Is anyone actually capable of that?” he said.

“Is anyone actually capable of what?” Bucky asked, because he’d clearly been conjured by Clint and Steve’s conversation.  Either that, or it was time for another round of teasing Clint.

As if to prove Clint right, Bucky turned to him with a devilish smirk and raised an eyebrow.  “Where’s Phil?” he said.  “Aren’t you two attached at the mouth these days?”

“Funny,” Clint said flatly.

Bucky’s smirk grew into a grin as he leaned against Steve’s broad shoulder.  “Yeah, well, call this payback for all the shit you gave me after Steve and I finally got together,” he said.

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but the words dried up as a familiar and possessive hand settled on his shoulder.  “Sorry for interrupting, gentlemen, but do you mind if I borrow my boyfriend for a moment?” Phil said mildly.

Biting his lip to stop his smile, Clint glanced down at the table.  It was stupid, but every time Phil called him ‘boyfriend’, a warm shiver slid down his spine.  When Clint glanced up again, Bucky rolled his eyes at him.

“Sure, Phil,” Steve said.  “I was just thanking Clint for his wonderful present.”

“Ah, yes,” Phil said, sliding his blue eyes to Clint.  “He’s just full of talents, isn’t he?”

Bucky huffed.  “I’m going to leave if everyone is going to get all mushy,” he muttered.

Steve turned wide, innocent eyes on Bucky.  “You have a problem with mush now?” he said.  “Because that’s not what you said this morning.  Or half an hour ago, behind the…”

To Clint’s amazement, Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink, but before he could truly enjoy the spectacle, Phil was tugging him by the hand away from the table.  Clint tried not to stumble over his feet as he let himself be pulled wherever Phil wanted him, and grinned.  “Something wrong, Phil?” he asked.

“Why would something be wrong?” Phil replied, and huh.  Phil was pulling him in the direction of the balcony attached to the ballroom Steve and Bucky had rented.

“Well, I was having a conversation with Steve,” he said.  “And Bucky, who was turning a truly interesting shade of red.”

Phil rolled his eyes.  “No, you were about to get into an argument with Bucky at his wedding anniversary party,” he said.  “Again.  I saved you.”

Clint batted his eyelashes.  “My hero,” he said.

Opening the door to the balcony, Phil tugged him outside, uncaring of who saw.  “Well, if you don’t want me to save you…”

Chuckling as he was pushed up against a wall, Clint let his hands slide underneath Phil’s suit jacket as Phil settled against him.  “Now, I never said that,” he said softly.  “You can save me any time you like, Phil.”

Shaking his head, Phil leaned in closer.  “You’re lucky I love you,” he said against Clint’s lips.

_Yeah_ , Clint thought as he pulled Phil in for a deeper kiss.   _I am_.

 

End.


End file.
